


Lemon Verbena And Thyme

by ladyoneill



Series: Shadows Of The Moon: Full Moon Ficlets [62]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mates, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1647614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heavily pregnant, Stiles is searching for something of his mother's for the baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lemon Verbena And Thyme

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fullmoon ficlet prompt: Mother's Day and set early in Dark Side Of The Moon when Stiles has accepted the baby but not Peter.

Heavily pregnant, Stiles winces as he manages to get to his knees to go through the box that's too heavy to lift. The attic is dusty, the box more so, and he sneezes and the cub kicks in retaliation, making him wince again. Carefully he cuts the strapping tape and peels open the lid.

He remembers his dad packing all this away. One weekend, spent in a drunken haze, so there's no organization. Stiles has already gone through four boxes, but he knows it's up here somewhere. At eight he tried to help and, hurting so badly, he couldn't bear to look at, touch, most of her possessions. Dad dealt with her clothes, jewelry, personal items, but Stiles carefully folded the old knit shawl she wore every day in the hospital and placed it in a box.

It was a family heirloom, knit by her great-great grandmother and passed down to the eldest daughter. So soft from a hundred years of use, he can remember it smelling of his grandma's lily of the valley perfume before she gave it to her daughter in the last months of her life and it took on her unique scent of lemon verbena and thyme.

Stiles isn't a girl, but he's the only one left to inherit it, and he wants to wrap his baby in the shawl.

So, he digs through another three boxes until he finally finds it.

It still smells like lemon verbena and thyme.

When he carefully makes it down the ladder, his father is waiting for him as he said he'd be, unable to face the contents of those boxes even eight years later. The man still wears his wedding ring on his finger and hers on a chain around his neck with his dogtags. As far as Stiles knows, he's never even casually dated since her death.

For a moment, as John places a steadying hand on his back to guide him down the last couple rungs, Stiles wishes he'd find that kind of great love.

But, that's not in the cards.

The cub kicks again against his dad's hand, eliciting a laugh both sad and joyful.

"Strong."

"Yeah, probably a wolf." 

"You found it."

For an instant, their eyes meet, both so sad, and then John briskly turns away to fold up the ladder and Stiles waddles down the stairs where he places the shawl in his messenger bag. as he's doing so John comes up to him and places an arm around his slumped shoulders.

"Claudia would have wanted you to have it. You know how much she loved to break tradition."

"Might as well be a girl," comes out a bit more sourly than Stiles planned and his dad turns him to face him, taking his shoulders in his strong hands.

"Stiles, you're not a girl."

Stiles snorts in self-derision, but is surprised to see the anger on his father's face.

"Has he been making you feel like one?"

"Nu...no," Stiles stammers, because Peter doesn't. "I just...It's Mother's Day, dad," he whispers painfully, "And I'm going to be a mom."

"No, you're not. You're going to be a dad and a great one. You know how happy I am that you've accepted this baby, love it, right?" When Stiles nods, he continues, "Babies don't need moms or dads, they need love, and even though I can't stand the man, Peter loves it, too. You can call yourselves whatever you want but in the end, you're parents."

Stiles feels tears sting his eyes and folds himself into his dad's arms, crying softly against his shoulder. "I miss her," he finally mumbles, because this was a day they celebrated in a big way with homemade breakfast and poorly wrapped presents and doing whatever Claudia wanted to do which usually meant the zoo or the park or, on rainy Mother's Days, a movie, one they'd all enjoy, and then dinner at their favorite diner. 

They haven't done anything but ignore the day in eight years.

John doesn't respond, just holds his son tighter, because Stiles knows just how much he misses her, too.

The scent of lemon verbena and thyme fills the air.

End


End file.
